


Opals and Marigolds

by youngthug (skepticalArsonist)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, First Time, Flirting, Pegging, Salons and whatnot, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepticalArsonist/pseuds/youngthug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look at that!" She cried when she finished. "Your hair is so beautiful, like marigolds and opals." She brought her face down so that they were level, both staring into the mirror ahead. </p><p>Due to an important upcoming event, Sansa books an appointment to get her hair done. Coincidentally, her hairdresser is a triple-threat: skilled, beautiful, and charming. Shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opals and Marigolds

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I miss the girls dearly. This is for the brothers who also miss the girls dearly. Enjoy.

"Yes, I have a 2:30 appointment." Sansa Stark breathed, clutching her purse tightly. It was 2:23. She had barely made it.

"... With?" The receptionist looked glassy-eyed and managed to sound like the most bored, emotionally damned human being on the planet by uttering a single syllable. Sansa did not appreciate when people took their personal dilemmas out on complete strangers. For a moment, she wished her mother was here to tell them off, but shrugged off the petty, childish thought. She was grown, and her mother was elsewhere. Sansa stood a little taller, stating clearly,

"I have a 2:30 appointment with Margaery today. I booked it last week." The receptionist peered down at the appointment book, then over at a calendar on the wall.

"Sansa Stark?"

"Yes."

"You're all set. She'll call you over when she's ready." Then she went back to texting.

Sansa took her purse down from her shoulder, the thing heavy with her wallet, her emergency makeup, embroidery kit, her book, and last, she recalled, the travel-sized journal that she doodled in occasionally when bored. It rested on the floor at her feet as she sat on the plush magenta couch, embroidering a garden whilst wedged between a mother with a little boy on her lap and the clearly bored husband of another customer. At one point, the little boy asked what she was doing.

"I'm sewing a picture," she replied with a smile. The boy, who understood and cared little, nodded and returned to playing with his mother's cell phone. The woman smiled at her apologetically.

"That's some beautiful stitching, miss." She said warmly.

"Thank you." It felt cool to be called 'miss'. Sansa nearly blushed.

She both texted and embroidered for nearly fifteen minutes before a feminine voice called her name.

"Sansa?" The voice rang. Sansa's eyes met hers, and after the longest two-second gaze in the universe, she stood, grabbing her purse and making her way over to the pretty brown-haired woman standing behind the black swivel chair. Sansa smiled at her before she sat. The shop was hot, smoke billowing from the nozzles of blowdryers and the splints of straightening irons. The air was perfumed with product and petunias, the summer heat carrying the scents throughout the room. The atmosphere was perfectly pleasant as usual.

"So, what are you in for today, Sansa?" Margaery asked, running her fingers through the thick red locks. "You have beautiful hair, just like your mom."

"Thank you." Sansa fidgeted. She could already feel the perspiration forming on her brow. She was wearing the socially acceptable bare minimum amount of clothing one could don: a tulip skirt, a cut off sleeveless top... Would it kill to keep the door open? There was quite a nice breeze outside...

"I'd like a wash, and if I show you a picture, could you style it?" She gazed into the mirror nervously. She had until seven to get ready. _Not a minute late..._ he had said. _You will not be a minute late, hear me?_ She shuddered.

"I can certainly try," Margaery replied gleefully. "I love a good challenge." Sansa pulled the printed images from her purse, handing them to the older girl shyly. She had spent a long while picking out the style, making sure it was elegant, but not so complicated as to frustrate the stylist.

"Very nice..." The hairdresser murmured. "What's the occasion?" Sansa bit her lip.

"I have a party to go to... Tonight. It's very fancy and important." She paused as Margaery covered her in a smock. She lifted her hair so the garment could be tied around her neck. "I don't want to go."

"What's not to love about very fancy parties with very important people?" Margaery asked, her perfectly shaped eyebrows raising in surprise.

"It's not-" Her phone began to buzz in her bag, and she excused herself as she pulled it out, inspecting the name on the screen. Arya... She hesitated before swiping to answer.

"Hello?"

"Sansa, where are you?" The girl practically hollered on the other line. "Rickon is hungry and I don't know what to do!"

"Arya, I told you I'd be out all day."

"Doing what?"

"Getting ready for the party!" She sighed. "You're fifteen, Arya, I'm sure you can make something quick for him to eat. Where's Bran?"

"Out with Meera. Jojen is sick."

"How about Hodor? Has he left yet?"

"It's Sunday, Sansa, you know he doesn't come Sundays."

"Shoot. Well just. Give him snacks, Arya! It's not that complicated. Just don't touch my cake, hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I-"

"No." She cut her off. "I mean it. I'll shave you bald if you touch it, I swear. I’ll shave you bald and hot glue feathers to your scalp."

"Okay, okay... Shit, Sansa." Her sister huffed before hanging up the phone.

"Sorry," Sansa apologized, blushing at the amusement illuminating Margaery's pretty face.

"It's no problem. I know what siblings are like." She gestured for the girl to stand, and the two went to the closest available sink. "Willas, Loras, it's stories, stories, _stories_ with those two." Sansa laughed, thinking of Arya and Bran, of Jon and Rickon, of Robb...

She leaned back into the dip in the sink, the water streaming down her scalp and basking her in a cool, misty paradise. She loved the way Margaery massaged her scalp. Her slender fingers were gentle, but her scalp was vigorously scrubbed with a sweet-smelling shampoo.

"So, where's Cat?" She asked after a while. Sansa, lost in a sea of her thoughts, almost opened her eyes before remembering where she was.

"She's last-minute dress shopping." Sansa laughed airily. "She figured she could do her hair herself." Sansa was grateful. It was usually Margaery who did her mother's hair, while some quiet, shy girl did her own. The other girl always did a fine job, but Sansa was a social creature, and therefore thrived in the company of others who liked to talk.

"You two are so cute, the way you come in here together."

"Marg!" A sharp voice called from some distance.

"Yes, gramma?" She replied, not looking up from her work. She was rinsing Sansa's hair a third time.

"Want some tea, dear?" Her voice was closer now. Olenna Tyrell was brilliant as she was frightening, and she had become rather close to Sansa and her mother. She was the owner of the shop, though she often complained that she'd _much_ rather go into politics, and how much better it'd suit her than this "airhead utopia".

"Yes, please. Lift your head, Sansa." She did just that. "Would you like some tea as well?"

She could use something to drink, although something iced would have been preferable. "I'd like that. Thank you."

"Gramma! Sansa would like some also. Come on, I'll dry your hair now."

As she waited for Margaery to fetch the tea and tend to another customer, Sansa took the time to send another message to Jeyne Poole, her pretty punching bag for troubling times such as these. She grew anxious thinking about the upcoming evening, and after a sip of nauseatingly sweet tea, she read her friend's response to her tribulations.

_You'll be fine, Sansa. Just stay close to your mom. ):_

Her brow creased. Her efforts to stay in supposedly safe territory would be futile, she had learned that from personal experience with Joffrey Baratheon. No matter how much she tried to stand her ground, to be the savior of her own skin, her struggle was always in vain, and never ended in triumph. Plus, she was eighteen, much too old to be hiding behind her mother's pencil skirt. She responded, and the other girl took a moment to text her back. Jeyne's response was incredibly underwhelming.

_Well. Idk what to say. Just keep in touch with me babe._

Jeyne Poole was not one for giving advice. Sansa wished that the girl could come with her, to serve as a buffer, an anchor, a companion...

_\- I wish you could come with me Jeynie._

_I know, but I'm closing at work. Plus I was never invited. You know that._

And she did. Jeyne was not a Stark, and her family had no ties to any Baratheons or Lannisters. It was a real disappointment. Sansa washed down the bitter taste of sadness with some fruity tea, and soon Margaery had found her way back to her chair. She asked Sansa to pass her clips as she went along separating sections of the girl's hair, darkened a deep crimson from the dampness. Sansa peered up at the girl who was working so skillfully with her hair. She too looked up, her eyes meeting the clear brown of the other's. Margaery was smiling in an instant.

"You know," she held a bobby pin in the corner of her mouth. "I see you here all the time, but I don't know much about you." She plucked the pin from her lips, sliding the thing into her pocket before trimming her ends. "So tell me, a little about yourself." Sansa had no idea how to begin.

"What... Should I stay first?"  
  
"Anything. Your age, maybe? Family? Interests?"

"Oh, well, I actually just turned eighteen a couple of months ago."

"Eighteen!" She gasped. "I thought you were older, maybe twenty or something. You're very tall." Sansa blushed.

"It's not very cute to be tall."

"It's not cute, no." She ran her palm under her chin. "It's sexy."

"Thank you..." Sansa physically perked up. She really liked Margaery. It was like talking to the sweet, girly sister she'd never had. "I'm going on to college but I don't know what I'll be studying. I don't really have many interests that... Define me."

"Really?" She took another roller. "You don't seem like the boring type to me. Tell me what you do for fun. Even the seemingly simplest people have hobbies, common or not."

"I... Embroider... I sew, I bake sometimes, but I don't like cooking... I like going jogging with my friends, although we mostly walk, and reading poetry. I like makeup, too, though I don't use a ton of it, and I like going on nature walks and sketching plants."

"You have really diverse interests! It's very impressive."  
  
Again, Sansa’s cheeks flushed red. “Thank you. How about you?”

"Well, for starters, I'm a rising junior. It may not look it now, but I'm an aspiring political theorist, writer and satirist. I know you're half asleep already."

"No, no!" Sansa assured her. "Keep going. I promise I'm listening." Margaery responded to the remark with a wicked grin.

"At home I study and write a lot. I also get to take care of my brother, which is a ton of fun. I'm always trying to get Loras to help me out, but he's always got some shit excuse to get out of work. It's always 'Marg, I've got to go to the gym, you know' or 'Renly and I have been meaning to get out for so long, Marg, today's just not a good day'. And it's every day, too. My grandma's too old to garden, my dad's too busy, Willas can't help me and Loras doesn't _want_ to help me. So tell me, Sansa, who do you think gets the privilege of pulling _all_ those weeds?"

"... Would that be you?"

"On the nose," she affirmed, touching a finger to her own. "I'm guessing my grandma didn't hear any of that, otherwise she'd be coming at me with a broom." She combed through some tangles in her hair. "Have you met my brothers before?"

"I think I've seen Loras in the shop before. He's very, very handsome." After seeing his face for the first time, Sansa had fallen in love. Though not a single soul knew about it, in her notebook she had drawn the man clad in armor, his hair rippling behind him as he rode an elegant steed across a meadow. She wished she could embroider it. The drawing had been decent.

"Yes, he is handsome, I'll give him that. He's also a huge pain in my ass, but I love him."

Sansa heard the sound of the blow dryer powering on. The noise made it difficult for them to converse, so Sansa went from her phone to her journal to her phone again. Whenever she looked up at her reflection, Margaery would meet her gaze and smile. Whenever Margaery would look up to inspect her progress, Sansa would look up and blush. Margaery was so beautiful, it felt incredible to be the center of her attention. She found herself praying, hoping that she was a special case, and that this wasn't merely customer-client etiquette.

"Look at that!" She cried when she finished. "Your hair is so beautiful, like marigolds and opals." She brought her face down so that they were level, both staring into the mirror ahead. "You sure you want it style it?"

"I'm sure. I want to do something different."

"Alright." The girl was standing upright again. "Let me just have those pictures again. I'm glad you printed them out. Most people just show me a picture on their tiny phone screens, like is this a joke?" They both giggled, and Margaery began gathering the materials for her work.

"You never told me why you didn't want to go to this party, you know." the hairdresser said after some time had passed. "Are you comfortable with sharing?"  
  
"It's... Fine..." Sansa felt uncomfortable suddenly, and she practically wriggled in her seat until she found a sitting position that made her feel less strange. "There's a boy... Joffrey Baratheon, and he's a nightmare."

"Ah, Joff... I've known him for years, actually. Little devil." Good, she'd understand.

"Well, he's supposed to be my date tonight. At the party. His _birthday_ party. Our parents love it. They think we're going to get married or something!" Sansa sat up straighter. "The thing about Joffrey is that he isn't a complete idiot. He mocks and humiliates me in front of just the right people. Our parents don't know about it, and I'm afraid of what'll happen if I do. I can't... Ruin the relationship between our families. My dad and Robert are business partners."

"Oh, my dad and grandma are going to that party too. But Sansa, do you think your parents would be angry with you for being concerned with your own wellness?" Hazy gray smoke curled up from the iron as it shaped her hair into auburn ribbons.

"No! Not in a million years. It'd just... I wouldn't want to be the one to jeopardize our future."

"Sansa..." Her voice had lowered a great deal and Sansa had to strain to hear her over the racket. "You have to tell them."

"But I..." _Don't cry, Sansa. You're eighteen, not eight._ "Margaery, I can't _do_ it. But I don't want to go to that party either."

"Are your siblings going also?"

"No. Just me and my parents. They're all busy. My brothers and sister, I mean."

"Hold your bun in place for a minute. Yeah, like that. I'll be right back." Sansa looked at her reflection and held back her sadness. She wanted to cry more than anything, but not here and in front of _her_. She checked the time. 3:20. She still had plenty of time to get ready for the night.

Margaery returned with a container full of accessories.

"Let's see what'll hold that bun in place, now..."

The two took the time to speak of family, aspirations, food, and of course the classic gossip. They listened, they laughed, and talked shit just like girls did.

When all was done, hair curled, styled, sprayed, perfected, Sansa could hardly believe how flawless the job was. Her hair was a slightly modified and near perfect replica of the updo in the image, and she gasped with glee, regarding every detail with wonder and fascination.

"It's amazing..." She turned to the girl, beaming with delight. "You're so good, Margaery. Thank you." The brunette squeezed Sansa's shoulder.

"Working with you was a blessing, Sansa. I haven't been so happy at work in a while."

"I don't think I was that interesting,"

"Oh, please. Don't shoot yourself down like that." As Sansa stood, stretching her limbs that desperately needed movement, Margaery reached into her pocket, pulling from it a small card. She handed it to Sansa, her handwriting rushed and sloppy and feminine all at once. Margaery looked her straight in the eyes as she spoke.

"This is what I want you to do," the girl tied her hair up in a heartbeat. "Ditch him. Stand him up. Don't go to the party. Come to my place instead." Was... She crazy?

"But I-"

"No. Trust me. My address and numbers are on the card. You need to do this."

"Margaery, I can't afford to skip out on this event... It's... His birthday! He'll want me there for sure!" Her heart was beating frantically, like the rumbling drums of battle.

"Come with me." She nudged the girl towards the door. "Gram! I'm taking a smoke break!"

"You don't smoke, you little rat."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be back in a hot minute!" So she and Sansa headed out the door and into the (thankfully) dry heat of summer. The world was suddenly quiet. She could feel herself calming down. They took a seat on an old bench under the scorching sun, and soon she felt she had to fight to remain conscious.

That disappeared when Margaery took her hands, holding them up between them. Again, Sansa blushed, though it was most likely from the heat.

"Promise you'll hear me out." She took a deep breath.

"Alright. Give me three reasons as to why I should skip out on this party despite barely knowing you." Margaery clutched her heart with a hand.

"Ouch," she let out, "that hurt, you know."

"I'm... Sorry. It's the truth, though. It's not like I don't trust you, I just barely know you."

"Sansa, you're miserable. It's written all over your face." She smiled sympathetically. "Listen, alright. My family is very close with the Lannisters. If anyone could get you out of this party it's me." Well, the offer was extremely convincing. Would it be Joffrey or Margaery? Margaery or Joffrey?

Why was she even debating it...

"I'll be there." She said finally, and in an instant the sun seemed to shine just a little brighter than the Margaery Tyrell. Then Sansa recalled her hairdo with regret.

"Marg..." She groaned. "I got my hair done for the party! You know it's not cheap!" Margaery’s face dropped, and in a moment she was thinking, lips pressed together and arched brows furrowing with frustration. Then her eyes lit up again, and she pulled from her "hairdresser's utility kit" a slip of paper and a small purple pen. She read it thoroughly, scribbled, and pressed it into Sansa's palm. Her fingers lingered there a moment.

"This is a half off coupon we give to customers after twenty visits," then she slipped a bill from her pocket. "... and this is twenty dollars. Consider it a special treat."

"Margaery, I can't just-"

"No, but you _can_. It's a gift."

"For what?"

"For blessing this salon with your beauty. Every time you and your mother come into the shop, standing all tall and pretty with your flowing red manes, tears fill my eyes. Honestly." Margaery stroked Sansa's cheek with a finger- she found is a strange gesture, but did not shy away from it. The way the older girl was looking at her, eyes lidded, gentle, barely blinking was all so... So... _Romantic._

 _Is she coming onto me?_ Sansa thought, _or does she flatter every girl like this?_

 _No,_ she thought as Margaery leaned in closer, _that can't be true. I'm her special case. I'm the one who's on her mind right now and.. She's on mine._

Margaery's hands pressed against Sansa's thighs as she kissed her, Sansa cupping the girl's pink cheeks with her hands.

_She tastes like... Sugar and flowers. Like chrysanthemum tea._

When they finally parted, Sansa found it difficult to look the other in the eye. Margaery stood, her hand gripping Sansa's like a vice.

"Why don't we pay for your haircut?"

Sansa was speechless as they made their way back into the shop.

  
♥♥♥

 **  
** "You wore your makeup too!" Margaery exclaimed, pulling Sansa into a hug tighter than a vice."You're so pretty, Sansa, my goodness! Come in!"

Sansa stepped into the home, nearly tripping in her wedges. The shoes made her tower over Margaery, and the discomfort drove her to kick them off, returning her to her normal height. Sansa was thoroughly impressed; Margaery wore a strapless blue asymmetrical dress that hugged the curve of her hips and brought out the color of her eyes. Sansa had to admit it was a bit much for an informal hangout, but Margaery looked stunning enough for her to let it slide.

"What's that you brought?" She asked, taking from Sansa's outstretched hands a pound cake and a sparkly black bag. She had baked the cake the previous day for her own selfish consumption, or, perhaps, if he begged, her father. However, her invite to the home of the Tyrells being impromptu and frantic, she had no other choice than to grab the sweet treat in her haste.

"Oh, it's just a glazed pound cake and... Joffrey's gift."

"Why didn't you give the gift to your parents?"

"I... Didn't want them to know I was skipping out on the party till I got here. You know, in case they dragged me." Sansa smiled. Margaery did the same, then guided Sansa towards the kitchen, the girl practically floating. She put both items on the counter.

"I'll make sure to give Joffrey the gift." She tapped Sansa on the nose. "I'll be back in a moment, I just have to pee. Sit tight, and make yourself at home."

After Margaery's departure, Sansa leaned against the cool stone counter, looking at herself on the black screen of her fun. She was glad that her hair had stayed almost completely unruffled even as she had gotten dressed earlier. Either Margaery had done a knock-out job with her hair or she had done a knock-out job getting dressed… Well, the fact of the matter was that she looked good, good enough for… She thought back to the afternoon, to the hot sun and…  
  
“Sansa Stark?” Startled, the girl spun around, momentarily afraid that whoever was in the kitchen with her had somehow scanned her thoughts… But when she found that it was merely Loras, her paranoia _almost_ disappeared. Her infatuation with him, though nothing more than a fleeting fantasy, rekindled itself again upon seeing his handsome, chiseled face. Oddly, he wore a buttondown shirt with an undone tie long with a pair of grey sweatpants bearing the name of his high school in green and yellow block letters. She wondered for a moment what occasion would cause him to wear something so strange… And yet it was still attractive, so attractive, in fact, that his half-casual look rivaled the formal look of his sister. The Tyrells have good genes.

“Oh, hey Loras.” She tried to sound casual although her mind was working, searching for something interesting to say. “You live here?” Shit. She was relieved when Loras laughed.

“I do. It’s temporary, but yeah. House hunting is really hard nowadays. I’ve been looking so long I think my family wants me out more than I want to leave.” He smiled brightly, beautifully, then checked his phone. “So Marg told me that you’re skipping out on Joff’s birthday. Brave of you.”  
  
“Thank you.” _I’m afraid, but…_ “I’m so grateful that your sister invited me over. Maybe you can hang out with us!”

“No,” Margaery strode in then, wiping her hands on her dress. “He has somewhere to be. Now.” Loras frowned.   
  
“I actually have to be there later. As you can see I’m not even fully dressed. I have to stop off at the party, too. My grandma just called. Senile old bag forgot her coats.” The man seemed to spy the cake on the counter just then, and eyeing Sansa, then his sister, added, “Mind if I cop a slice of cake?”

“Take as much as you want,” Sansa urged him. She almost added that she had baked it herself, but held her tongue.

“Thank you, Sansa.” He said with a joking bow.

“Okay, Loras, now that your lust for carbs and company has been sated, can you leave? Bounce? Fly on out of here?” Margaery was not pleased with her brother’s intrusion, and Sansa could not help but be upset with her irritation. He had only wanted to make conversation with her, and it had made her feel special.

“Marg, I can only cut cake so fast,” he replied, sifting through a drawer for silverware. “I’ll be gone in twenty minutes, anyway. Christ.”

“Take your cake and go.” She waved him off, and he did so quickly.   
  
“Wait, Loras!” Sansa called. Her face reddened when he looked her full in the face, his face showing that he hadn't expected her to speak.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Can you take this to Joffrey for me. As you can see I can’t.” Loras grinned and nodded, gorgeous hair bouncing. Sansa thanked him quietly.

Before he exited the room, Margaery called after him, “Make sure you don’t wear that shitty strong cologne. Wear the one in the blue bottle. It smells better.” Loras simply grunted, ducking out of the kitchen with a mouth full of pound cake and Joffrey’s present under his arm.  

“Anyway…” Margaery took Sansa’s hand, leading her to a tall stool in front of the counter and pulling one out for her. She then got two plates, two forks, and a knife along with the cut cake. Sansa was relieved to find that Loras had taken a fairly conservative helping. Margaery cut them each a slice, then looked at her, her petal-like lips curling into a pretty pink smile. Sansa blushed, looking down at her cake. She wondered if she could get up and pour herself a glass of milk. She hadn’t sampled it, but she was 99% certain that the dessert was extremely sweet. Perhaps even too sweet. But unfortunately, courtesy had her butt glued to her seat. Margaery flirtatiously ran her index finger down each of Sansa’s, saying nothing with her mouth but _everything_ with her eyes. Using her fork, she took a piece of cake and held it in front of Sansa's lips.

"Take a bite." Sansa did so, giggling. The cake was not as sweet as she anticipated. Margaery ate a piece too, her eyes closing as she chewed and savored the morsel. Sansa's phone buzzed. She ignored the message.

"Sansa..." Margaery cooed, leaning forward in her seat. "This cake is delicious. Unbelievable. But..." She scooched her stool closer to Sansa's, their faces now so close that their breaths could count as one. 

"I think that for now, I want to kiss you again." Sansa said nothing, only looked at her hands in her lap.

"Sansa, would you like to share another kiss?" Margaery gently placed a hand on her shoulder, then took one of Sansa's hands with her other. When Sansa looked up again, Margaery's eyes were fixed on her own. She bit her lip, nervous, dizzy. She’d only dated Joffrey in the past, and that had never been romantic in the least. She had tried hooking up with some guy once and had hated and regretted is. In fact, he hadn’t even been able to stick around long enough for them to have sex. She had simply cried until he half-heartedly comforted her before returning home. Yes, it was sad, but Sansa had lived quite a loveless life. Well, until now, of course.

Today, Margaery had shown her more kindness than Joffrey and his parents had shown her in her lifetime. And to think she'd thought he’d been her soulmate.

Now looking into Margaery's eyes, glimmering like bronze and copper and fresh brewed coffee, she could see that this girl was her soulmate, the one she'd been waiting for all her life. And to think they'd spent hours in the same room together on several occasions for many a year. Margaery Tyrell, the queen of hair and conqueror of her heart.

"Yes," Sansa finally said. "I'd love to."

Her lips tasted of lipstick and her mouth was sweet and sugary and warm. Sansa felt a hand on the back of her head, pressing them closer. Their breath mingled and their tongues felt around shyly, each woman's confidence building with time, though it was for the most part Sansa who had the low confidence to begin with. Her hands rested on Margaery's waist, and the two remained entangled until one of their stools lurched forward dangerously. They parted, frightened.

"Why don't we move..." Margaery murmured, though Sansa couldn't tell whether or not the comment had been to herself. Both stood, dusting crumbs from their dresses and grinning stupidly. Sansa was feeling giddy and much too eager, and the joy she felt being there with Margaery was intoxicating. She didn't even know why or how she'd been so nervous just minutes in the past.

Smiling widely like fools, the girls went down the hall and into what Sansa had to assume was Margaery's bedroom. It was a relatively small room with yellow walls and rather plain furniture. Despite this, what she lacked in decor she made up for in flowers. She had several varieties, all watered and colorful, filling the air with a faint natural perfume.

"Wow," Sansa gasped. "It's beautiful in here..."

"Thank you. I try." Margaery looked very pleased with herself. It was adorable. She gave Sansa a swift kiss on the jaw.

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes. Just grabbing some stuff." She was off, and Sansa was left to explore the room during her absence. The girl had a tall wooden bookshelf overfilled with textbooks, boring looking history and government books and picture frames depicting the girl with friends and family both. Sansa felt a pang of jealousy, and with a sad little sigh, she went to sit on the bed. Margaery's desk was located across the room, and though Margaery was neat, the desk was in total disarray. In fact, it was so messy Sansa did not dare observe it up close, in fear of disrupting... Whatever creative process was happening there.

Margaery returned with a basket and a tray. The latter object, carrying the remainder of the cake, a bottle of wine, and two glasses was placed on her nightstand, and with the grace of a swan, she presented the contents of the basket to Sansa.

"I've got us some candles to set the mood. Sit tight while I light them, babe." Sansa nodded, blushing, while the other went back to the door to turn out the lights.

The girl lit the candles, eight in total, placing them near the bed and on any surface that would allow them to see to a certain extent. When all was done, Margaery sat adjacent from Sansa, leaning against the headboard with a flickering smirk.

"You look so beautiful in the candlelight..." Sansa murmured, turning so that she could touch the warm flesh of her cheek.

"Romantic, isn't it?" The girl moved forward into Sansa's touch, grabbed her wrist, and kissed her fingers lovingly. Sansa smiled.

"It's very cliché. I love it." They kissed again, painted lips pressed firm against painted lips, Margaery's hands on Sansa's breasts, Sansa gasping with each gentle touch. She felt a warmth wash over her body and blossom between her legs as Margaery unzipped her dress- too slowly, _oh_ she was being so slow!

But since Margaery Tyrell was no telepath, she continued to peel Sansa's dress from her shoulders. It was a relief when the thing finally came off. The bust was too tight and had been restricting her breathing for the past few hours.

"Ooh," Margaery cried. "Where'd you get your bra? It's so fancy!" Was it just a thing for hairdressers to excessively compliment others?

"I got it at that new lingerie place in the outlet. They had a big sale last winter." Margaery had begun undressing herself. Sansa helped her unzip.

"I have to get me one of those. You have good taste Sansa. That's pretty rare."

"My brothers and sister mock my taste _constantly_. Especially Arya. She can be a nightmare sometimes."

"I know what that's like. I make fun of my family all the time. It's all good." She patted Sansa's shoulder, then wriggled out of her dress, throwing it over her headboard. Margaery's bra was very plain as to not show underneath her dress. The black satin and pale little bow in the middle also flickered orange in the dim light. Orange, like marigolds and opals.

 _And fire..._ Sansa thought. _Marigolds and opals and fire._

"I have to ask, have you ever had sex with another girl?" Ah, the big question.

"I've never... Had sex. Like ever." It was embarrassing, especially since a majority of her friends were already pretty sexually active, making it inevitable for the subject to come up in conversation. Sansa had been waiting for the perfect person to swing down from a branch and claim her as their prize, but of course, no such thing had happened for eighteen years.

"Oh, you're kidding!" Margaery gasped. "This changes everything... Sit up against the headboard, babe." Sansa obeyed, unhooking her bra and sighing with relief as it fell from her skin. She messaged the red indents on her back while Margaery rummaged through the basket.

"Stupid..." Margaery mumbled to herself. "Stupid, stupid. Why would I just assume..." She came up with damn near an armful of... Stuff. Her brown hair fell in her face messily. Sansa leaned forward to move it out of her eyes.

"Thank you." She sat again, putting everything down in a small pile between them; the sight was intimidating as it was exciting. "Sansa, I'm sorry if you took this the wrong way. I just thought you were too pretty to be a virgin." Margaery took off her own bra now. Their size difference nearly made Sansa frown. Her breasts were small and though they were perky, she'd have liked them to have a little more... _Substance_. Margaery, she observed, had it all. Her breasts were round, perky, and a decent size. She had to have been at least a C.

They kissed again, Sansa gingerly taking her breasts into her hands, feeling Margaery's tongue move around her mouth like strokes of a paintbrush. The colors she saw behind her closed lids were works of art too: the cleanest white of pleasure, the airy pink of romance, the blood red of passion. Could it be an illusion, or was it truly this surreal, this feeling of pure and wholesome love. She felt warm thumbs press against the buds of her nipples. She whined when they made circles around her areola.

Margaery kissed her neck hard and deep enough to leave hickeys that would stick around for weeks. Her breasts were kneaded so gently that it was more therapeutic than sexual, though there was no denying that her panties were growing damper with each growing moment, She wanted Margaery badly, and simply kissing wasn’t enough.

“Please, Marg, could you…” Margaery paused, looking up, her tongue hovering just above her left nipple. “Could you move down, maybe?” Margaery lifted her head, laughed. Sansa was momentarily embarrassed at her hastiness. It made her seem childish, her inability to wait any longer. 

“It won’t be much longer, babe,” Margaery reassured, her voice low and absolutely _dripping_ with sugar and _so_ much spice. “We’ll get there. I just need to get you ready so that I don’t hurt you.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“No need to be.” She kissed her forehead gently before sliding her body down once again, wrapping her hot lips around Sansa’s hardened nipples, flicking at them with her wet tongue. Sansa stifled her giggles. It tickled, but at the same time she'd hate it if the girl stopped.

Once again, Margaery moved down, her hands running down her waist, her lips smearing lipstick on her chest, then her stomach, then her hips... Sansa sunk into the pillow and rested her head against the headboard as Margaery slid her panties down her legs. It was incredible how turned on she was from mere kisses and touches- her panties were very wet, almost embarrassingly so.

"Are you comfortable up there?" Margaery asked her with a smile. Sansa really could not tell how she was feeling. It was a whole mess of things, in fact: eagerness, gratitude, closeness, connectedness... Comfort was the last thing on her mind at the moment. Margaery sat up on her knees, both hands on her shoulders.

"Relax, Sansa, relax." She pushed her shoulders back, kissed her softly, and slid back down until her face was between Sansa's legs. When the gentle touch of Margaery's tongue met her flesh, Sansa let her eyes flutter shut, letting a new warmth wash over her, emitting the softest gasp, a miniscule puff of air escaping her pink lips. Then, slowly, breathing became moans, and moans became pleads.

“Marg, please…” She didn’t know what she was asking the girl to do. “Yes, please… _Please,_ Margaery.” The feeling of Margaery’s tongue on her clitoris sent shocks up her spine, surges of warmth and pleasure blossoming from her pelvis and making her whimper. Margaery continued to pleasure Sansa with her tongue until she was all but overwhelmed and on the cusp of orgasm. The heat seemed to leave her body when the other girl stopped.

"Margaery-" Again she was hushed.

"Don't worry, petal, the fun part is just beginning." She winked, and the gesture was so sexy, so sweet, that Sansa wanted badly to pull her into another wet-lipped kiss. Of course she did not. Sansa was never the type to initiate, to make the first move.

The older one sifted through the pile, picking up and inspecting this and that. Sansa watched her patiently, wondering what was next, and what Margaery would do that would make her feel loved and desired and _wonderful_ physically and spiritually.

"God," the girl said, a laugh mixed in with the light notes of her voice, "candles seem ideal and romantic in retrospect, but I can't read a damn thing in the dark."

"Should I turn on the lights?"

"No, no. Don't move until I'm finished with you. That's an order." She smiled and resumed squinting at a bottle. "Now Sansa, I'm really going to need you to relax for this. Are you alright?"

Sansa let out breath. "I'm alright... I'm a bit scared. I heard it hurts, losing it."

"I'll be honest with you." Margaery stroked Sansa's cheek, gentle as a mother to her child. "It hurts for a lot of people, but it doesn't have to. I'll be slow and gentle. I promise you." Sansa was not reassured, and it showed plain as day on her face. Margaery gave her a small smile.

"It doesn't have to hurt. It didn't for me, and this is the key." She held up her glistening digits.

"Lube?"

"Lube."

"Oh..." Sansa's heart began thumping mercilessly. Was she excited? Afraid? Anxious? Goodness, she didn't know what she was... Nor did she truly care, she realized. What she was feeling was not at all negative, and therefore it didn't matter. Margaery got up, stretching and retrieving yet another wondrous item from her basket.

Sansa watched Margaery wiggle into the mint green briefs, the small dildo bobbing in the front. She saw the girl retrieve a condom from the basket, rolling it onto the toy with effortless grace. She then began slicking herself with lubricant, grimacing at the glistening wetness covering her palms. For a  moment she looked confused, as if she had no idea where she was.

"I should've brought wet wipes. Ech..." She hesitantly wiped her hands on her sheets.  
  
She hovered over Sansa now, looking into her eyes, her nervous irises swimming in shimmering pools of white unknowing. The redhead averted her gaze.  
  
"Promise me it won’t hurt?" She whispered, her voice shaking. "My friends... They say it hurts a lot. I don't want it to hurt." She recalled the time Jeyne had told her about her first time. They had only been freshman and Ramsay Bolton had been about seventeen. The account had been so terrible that Jeyne had been the one to comfort her friend over the phone. Sansa had cried for nearly five minutes.  
  
“Sansa… This isn’t the sort of thing I can promise. I can definitely try my best. I swear if it hurts it’s not on purpose.” This got Sansa thinking.  
  
"Can we have a safe word?"  
  
"Uh, of course. What'll it be?"  
  
Sansa thought for a moment.   
  
"What about 'gelato'?"   
  
Margaery grinned. "Why gelato?"  
  
"I'm thinking about it. I don't know."  
  
"Gelato it is, then... Are you ready?"  
  
Sansa nodded slowly. "I am." Margaery's eyes were stars above her, watching her and guiding her.

She felt safe. She trusted Margaery, liked Margaery, really _really_ liked Margaery. She could do this.  
  
Sansa's mouth fell open when Margaery parted her legs carefully with her thumbs, careful not to smear the lubricant onto her legs. She smiled, placing a gentle kiss to her wetness before readjusting herself, preparing herself for what was next.

The object entered her, bringing with it a pain cold and sharp as a butcher's knife. She gasped. It seemed to have come out of nowhere: it was not and then it was. Sansa did not like it in the least, but she held on. It was bearable. Her hand laced tightly with Margaery's, the brunette whispering to her encouragingly: _Good job, Sansa. Almost there, Sansa. You're beautiful, Sansa. You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen._

Margaery continued to push in slowly. The dildo was thin, and the lubricant allowed for a smooth entry. She asked Sansa if she was alright. The hard part was over, she told her quietly. Sansa exhaled. It hadn't been horrific. It still hurt, but there were so many other feelings going on that nearly overpowered it.   
  
Then Margaery began to thrust, bringing upon a whole new feeling altogether. First it didn't feel like much. Just the strange, uncomfortable feeling of having a foreign object between your legs. Then warmth spread throughout her body, and slowly she felt... Indescribable. The pain began to fade, giving way to the best thing she had ever felt. She wanted more of this, more of Margaery. Her fists clenched the sheets like vices l, her hips raising as much as she could manage.  
  
Sansa cried out in pleasure as Margaery gripped her breast with one hand, stimulating her clit with the other. She hoped to God it would never stop, the delicious feeling between her legs, the sight of Margaery above her, face working and breasts bouncing as she fucked her with gentle fervor. She was glad at how quickly the pain had melted into exquisite pleasure.   
  
Sansa's orgasm came fast and hit her hard, racking her body with an unmatchable and indescribable wave of deadly ecstasy. She was overcome by thoughts and yet thought of nothing, saw white and yet saw everything.   
  
She lay limp for a while, sensitive and gathering her bearings. She insisted Margaery not move until she was ready, and the other had obeyed without question. So they lay still, sweaty and giggling like young girls.  
  
Margaery pulled out after a minute or so, leaving Sansa feeling empty and somehow cold. As if they shared one mind, she wrapped her slender arms around Sansa's belly, kissing her sleepily.   
  
_A direwolf lying in a bed of roses,_ Sansa thought with a smile. _How beautiful..._ She turned to face Margaery, planting a kiss on her pink lips.   
  
"Marg..." She whispered, "Should I call my parents? What am I going to tell them...?"   
  
"Don't  worry Sansa, your family is fine. I'm a girl, they won't suspect a thing." She closed her eyes. "Just wait a few minutes... You're so warm..."  
  
  
♥♥♥  
  
  
Sansa and Margaery sat on the back balcony, eating potato chips and sipping on a mixture of seltzer water and about three different fruit juices. The patio overlooked the swimming pool, shimmering and glowing different colors in the light of night. The air about them was cool and damp and smelled of bug spray.  
  
Sansa's thumb hovered over her father's cell phone number. She had stared at the contact for minutes, trying to muster the strength to press it, but could not find it in her to make the call.

To her left, Margaery and Willas were engaged in quiet conversation.

Their voices stopped for a moment, and Sansa could feel both pairs of eyes on her.  
  
"You haven't called yet, have you?" Willas stated more than asked. Margaery nodded her agreement.  
  
"You have nothing to be afraid of. Call them, Sansa. What's the worst that can happen?" Sansa felt tears prickle in her eyes.  
  
"Everything... What if... Oh my God, what if-"  
  
"Sansa," she cut in sharply. "Quit thinking about the negatives and call already!"   
  
"Please do it," Willas urged, pushing up his glasses with a finger. "And grab me some more chips in the meantime. I mean, please?" So Sansa handed the man another napkinful of chips and dialed her father, her heart beating for a different reason. Ned Stark picked up after the second ring.  
  
"Sansa!" He exclaimed. "Where were you? Where _are_ you? Are you alright? Your mom and I were so worried- I mean I know you're an adult now, but you should have _told_ us." It was stunning to hear this from her father, usually a man of few words during matters that did not concern business.   
  
"Dad, I told you I was fine! I'm at Margaery Tyrell's house. She's my um... Hairdresser." Margaery sniggered into her palm. Sansa smacked her knee, making a face.  
  
"Yes, we got the texts, but why, Sansa?" Ned's voice was filled with worry. "Joffrey expected you to be here. He was very upset at your absence. Cersei was expecting you too. Robert was..."   
  
"Shit-faced?"  
  
"Very." Ned chuckled.  
  
"Dad, we need to talk though. Are you somewhere quiet?"  
  
"Yeah. What's the matter, pumpkin?"  
  
Sansa took a deep breath and began explaining herself.  
  
  
♥♥♥  
  
  
The next morning, Sansa laid across her bed, embroidering and listening to calm, soft music, the type that you only listen to when in a certain mood. The day was hot but her clothes were long as to conceal any marks. She hadn't felt the need to apply any foundation or concealer, as she had no plans for the day. The fan blew in the corner, making the pictures on her wall seemingly levitate.   
  
There came a small knock at her door, and Sansa turned down her song. She wasn't surprised when her mother stepped into her room.  
  
They had already spoken a very long time about the previous night, so whatever she had come in to discuss was an absolute mystery. To avoid confrontation, Sansa spoke first.  
  
"Mom, did Joffrey like my gift?" Catelyn frowned, looking from the window to the wall, then to her daughter again.   
  
"Well... Like I said, he was _very_ upset that you skipped out on his party. He just kind of tossed it to the side."   
  
"What a little bitch," Sansa scoffed, earning her a look of displeasure. "Those jeans cost me seventy-two dollars. They were designer."   
  
"I know, pumpkin..." Her mother checked the clock. "I have to pick up Rickon now. I'm so glad you're safe, Sansa. I'm glad you told us about your problems with Joffrey. That's all I wanted to say."  
  
"Thank you mom. Love you."  
  
"Love you too, doll." She scratched Lady behind the ears before exiting the room.  
  
Sansa lounged around a while before her phone began buzzing. Most likely Jeyne, or Robb, or maybe someone from her job looking for someone to take their shift. However, she was thrilled to discover Margaery's contact on the screen of her phone. She picked up without hesitation.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi Sansa! Have time to talk?"  
  
"I do, but in a moment..." A wicked smile spread across her face. "I have a contact I need to block first."  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> This took me much longer than I had intended, but stuff got in the way, and I neglected this a little bit. Well, more than a little bit. In fact, my going on vacation forced me to finish this sooner than I ever would at home- you'd be surprised at much you can accomplish with 2 weeks without wifi! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! I sure enjoyed writing it! :D


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